Come To Grief
by Tiny Finch
Summary: She had seen death. Luna knew death. Death, she had told herself, was simply a part of life. Death, while definitely sad, was not scary. Really. But now here it was again, lashing out at her, coming out of nowhere. Unexpected, this death was terror in every sense of the word. Her throat constricted into a painful vice as moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes. Murder.
1. Chapter 1

**Come to Grief**

Part 1

" _Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,_

 _Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—_

 _While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,_

 _As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door._

"' _Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—_

 _Only this and nothing more."_

 _Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;_

 _And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor._

 _Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow_

 _From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—_

 _For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—_

 _Nameless_ _here_ _for evermore."_

-The Raven

She felt the blood slip down the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow. Or, at least, she tried but instead choked, coughing. A thick curtain of rain and mist had settled over her, steadily drenching every ounce of clothing. The wet was bitingly cold. Dazed, she looked out over the Burren around her, bare rock meeting sky. The scenery came in and out of focus with passing curtains of rain, lending it an evanescent feel.

 _Oh. Perhaps… I am dead, after all._

Luna repositioned herself carefully, wincing at the shooting pain in her ribs. She felt like she would be sick to her stomach, but fought the urge. They could still be nearby. The wind picked up, whipping the wet locks of her hair up into her face, despite her shielded perch behind an outcropping of rock. With numb fingers she peeled the hair from her eyes and peered out. Off in the distance she could just make out the cold grey waters of the bay. Just yesterday, when the weather had been fair, she had been able to see clear across to Galway.

She needed to disapparate. Grimacing, Luna looked down at the broken remains of her wand. Wandless apparation was difficult on a good day. In her current state… Luna wasn't sure she was up to the task. Shock and physical injury had made her weak, her legs had finally given out underneath of her, forcing her to crawl through thick hazel scrub. Fear and disorientation led her to climb upwards, until the heavily creviced limestone had offered some meager shelter.

Some time had passed as she hid and the heavy clouds, threatening all day, had finally broken, letting loose a torrent. It was time to move or hyperthermia would set in. She slowly leaned out to scan her surroundings, bidding her exhausted arms to support her weight. Nothing, just grey, bleak rock and rain. Silence stretched out around her. Only the patter of steady rain met her ears. She took a steadying breath, acknowledging that the cold rain, at the very least, was doing some good. Escape had cost her. She'd suffered burns up her back and onto the nape of her neck.

 _So tired._

At a snails pace, she eased herself up and out from shelter, blinking against wind and rain. Her coat had long been lost, but now it was for the best. The bright, cheerful red of her slicker would have made her an obvious target on the monochromatic landscape. Egging herself onward, Luna crawled across the rock, working her way down. She kept low, praying to any god or spirit she could think of that she would remain unseen. Now was no time to be picky, she'd accept any cosmic goodwill she could get.

Progress was painfully slow as her limbs became increasingly unwieldy. Mud clung to her sodden clothing. The sudden start of an engine sent Luna dropping to the ground like dead weight. Heart pounding, she peered through the shrub, having finally made her way down off of the limestone pavement. A farm truck rumbled by, groaning as it made its way down the muddy tracks of a service road. Luna let out a shaking sigh of relief. Finally, she had made it back to the outskirts of town.

She allowed herself a moment to rest, listening to her surroundings. Sheep bleated in the distance. A dog barked. She couldn't have traveled much more than a kilometer or two, but the difference was massive. It meant life. Luna allowed hope to swell up in her chest. Being close to town meant cover. She'd be far more difficult to track as she moved between farms and buildings. Luna went to push herself up, groaning with the effort. It hurt. Everything hurt. Horribly. She had been through some tight spots before. Being taken by Death Eaters had chilled her to the bone. Even now, years later, a nightmare from that time would still rip her from sleep. But this… Luna had never known such a primal fear as this. She had never truly known what pain was.

It was a miracle she had even made it out alive.

No. It had been sheer, dumb luck.

Stumbling, she came out onto the service road and spotted a gate down a ways. From there, she knew, the main road would lead into town. Luna contemplated hitching a ride, but quickly dismissed the idea. In her current state, no one would simply leave her to go on her merry way. She would be swept away to the nearest muggle hospital, where there wouldn't be a charm or healing spell in sight. This part of Ireland hosted few wizarding communities, only passing travelers and fellow magizoologists.

The rusted gate hung slightly open, swaying slightly in the wind. She plodded down the road, slipping slightly and splashing into a puddle. Her mind was beginning to get fuzzy, feverish.

Wait… would they be expecting her to take the main road? Luna stopped, conflicted.

A man cleared his throat, rooting her to the spot.

"Erumpent horn. That was a cute trick, darlin'."

Fear washed through her, constricting her throat. She felt that she would cry. It was a sickly sweet voice, American. She wasn't an expert, but the southern twang was so strong it was hard to miss. He stepped into the road, between her and the gate. He was tall, surprisingly so. His frame was lanky, all elbows and knees. He flashed her a smile full of white, straight teeth before turning his head, looking about at the deserted road. They looked unreal. Everything about the man was odd, like he didn't fit properly within his own skin. His ears sat out away from the side of his head, trying to escape the thin, angular cheekbones that propped up diluted, pale blue eyes.

She shuddered.

"Color me surprised, actually. Although, my friend over there finds it less amusing," he said, nodding behind her.

She turned to see another behind her. He was, unlike the American, of average height, slightly stocky, brown hair- otherwise relatively unremarkable with the exception of the fresh, nasty burn that marred the left half of his face. Some sort of salve had been hastily spread across the wound, causing his eye to be sealed shut. One eyebrow was completely gone. It was, some perverse part of her noted with satisfaction, her handiwork.

He looked positively livid, murder evident on his face.

"You were a hard one to track down, wasted our entire afternoon hunting for you," he said, slowly walking up to her. "So, let's be a doll and come back quietly."

Luna forced herself into a smile, fighting back tears.

"I'd really rather not," she said, voice catching in her throat.

He cocked his head to the side and, for a moment, did not respond.

Exhausted, Luna had no time to react to the backhanded slap. She hit the ground with a wet smack. The world briefly went black before it blinked back into life. She tasted fresh blood on her tongue as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head up. He bent down onto one knee and pulled her face in close, a smile still twisting his lips. Despite the severity of his blow and the grin, his pale eyes revealed no emotion, unreadable.

"Enough. You will come or I will slit your sweet little throat here and now, wasting every single drop of your blood. You are proving to be far more trouble than you are worth, Miss Lovegood."

She tried to swallow. Now, she thought miserably, would be a most opportune moment for a time turner.

* * *

"… any one with a spot of sense can see, a cull of the Brazilian Dugbog population would be devastating to the surrounding marshland. Mandrake farmers have strong ties with many peoples of –er- certain places of influence in our ministry. This movement has gotten far more credence than it's worth. Bitten ankles and damaged mandrake crops are hardly worth the risks a cull would cause on the ecosystem. Observe this chart I have here and you'll see…"

The words trailed in and out of focus along with Luna's concentration.

The Brazilian naturalist was short... very short. Luna couldn't help but find the man so thoroughly distracting that the words leaving his mouth dissipated into boring blah before they could even reach her ears. She had stopped listening thirty minutes into the seminar, despite the fact that she had a report due soon on the international attitude towards dugbogs and mandrake crop yields. It mattered little. She had a little trick up her sleeve courtesy of Mr. Weasley. The last time she had visited the Weasleys for Sunday luncheon he had insisted on gifting her a recorder of sorts. He'd been playing with muggle technology again. The old beat up 'walkman' could play back anything within a 72-hour period. She'd give the seminar another listen tonight or tomorrow.

Luna chewed the tip of her quill, the silky feather tickling her tongue. Perhaps it was his mustache? It was a massive, immaculately groomed thing, obscuring his mouth to such a degree that she could only see his bottom lip bobbing into view with each word he spoke. She smiled faintly, wondering if the mustache was an attempt to hide some sort of unfortunate defect. Luna amused herself, thinking up a back-story that involved the poor naturalist's teeth being knocked clean out by a fire slug blast.

 _If that were the case, I'd fix up a mustache for myself. Would I make it blonde to match… or maybe something a bit jollier… like turquoise?_

He continued on, lamenting over the weak international outrage concerning the dugbog. She felt particularly fidgety today, fingers and toes tapping about. She sighed, fiddling with her necklace of butterbeer caps. Even after all of these years, it was still her favorite. It kept her feeling connected to her Hogwarts years and to her friends. Hermione, Harry, and Ron. Everyone had spread out, pursuing his or her ambitions. She tried her best to visit the Burrow and Hermione as often as she could. Otherwise, she feared, she would never have the chance to see them.

When had she last seen Harry? Three weeks ago? More? He'd looked happy, confident. Luna wondered if Ginny had anything to do with that. Last time she had seen them it was impossible to miss the handsome ring on her finger. Sleek silver wrapping delicately around a gleaming sapphire. Would they have the wedding at the Burrow like Bill and Fleur's?

"Luna… Luna, lovely. Are you home?"

A soft hand touched her shoulder, pulling Luna from her thoughts. She came back to the present moment, looking around at the drowsy lecture hall in which she sat. It was Bonnie, the president of The London Naturalist Society for Wizards and Witches. Her mentor.

"Hmm?" she said, stretching her arms up above her head.

"I was asking you when you planned to head out." Bonnie said as she buttoned up her tweed jacket, tucking a stray hair back into her immaculately kept bob.

Bonnie loved men's dress. Muggle fashion in particular. Although, as Hermione had tactfully pointed out at last year's holiday party, her sense of style was about three decades behind the rest of the muggle world. The tweed jacket was a favorite, elbow patches and all.

"Oh? Have I been spaced out for so long, then?" Luna asked, looking about at the wizards and witches shuffling around, gathering bags and coats.

"No, no. He only just wrapped up a few minutes ago. I meant your trip. The augureys, yeh?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I still have some fieldwork left to do. Last time I went, there was an unprecedented dry streak. Not a drop of rain. I wasn't able to see a single Augurey cry the entire week I was there," she said, a hint of annoyance entering her voice.

Bonnie chuckled deeply, clapping a boney hand against Luna's back as she stood.

"A dry spell in Ireland sounds like a bit of an oxymoron to me. Still, I don't envy you. Augureys are such depressing birds. Sad, dour little vultures, I think. Come on then. Let me introduce you to Mr. Rivera." Bonnie shook her head at the bemused smile on Luna's face.

 _Ah, Mr. Mustachio._

Luna followed her mentor down the stairs to the speaking platform, shrugging her leather bag onto her shoulder. The air in the hall was uncomfortably warm from the afternoon sun, small beads of sweat glistened on Mr. Rivera's forehead as he gathered up his parchment. Now that she was up close, he was not as short as she had originally assumed. However, the mustache seemed larger than life. The smell of musty cologne filled her nose. She had to fight the itching need to sneeze.

"Mr. Rivera, this is Luna Lovegood. She's one of my aspiring magizoologists," Bonnie said, jovial.

"Charmed," Luna said, giving him a sweet smile.

She held out a thin pale hand in greeting, forcing herself to look into his eyes. From this vantage point she could see grey hairs.

"Ah, it's so nice to meet you. How far are you into your training?" he asked, lighting up at the introduction.

He smiled, and with a start, Luna saw that beneath the mustache he was indeed missing some teeth. Her musings had been accurate, sans fire slug. Probably. Inquiring would be rude and improving on her tact was something she was striving for. Hermione had really let her have it after a rather unfortunate slip of the tongue at the last Ministry office party she had been invited to. She really had thought the man's nose was fake… Luna snapped back to the present. His handshake was firm and, despite the horribly distracting facial hair, Luna decided that she liked him.

"She has one more year of work in the field as an apprentice before she becomes fully licensed," Bonnie answered for her.

Luna did not mind. It was just Bonnie's way. People often found the witch hard to deal with, citing that she was pushy. Obnoxious. In fact, ever since her promotion to president, the number of naturalists in the society had begun to dwindle. These qualities had never bothered Luna; they did nothing to detract from the fact that Bonnie was a top-notch naturalist. And, she had to admit to herself, Luna would never turn away someone who wanted to be friends. Interacting with peers had not gotten any easier after Hogwarts.

"I see. What is your focus for your last year of training? As I am sure you can surmise, mine was the dugbog. Naturally, after spending a year out on the Pantanal, I was sick to death of the creatures. Beautiful landscape but you get so tired of being damp. So… pruned. I swore I would never have anything to do with them ever again! Yet, here I am many years later pushing for their protection," he said with a sad shake of his head. "Time is a funny thing."

"Oh, is that where you lost your teeth?" Luna asked, jumping at the opportunity to know. Manners forgotten. _Fiddlesticks._

Bonnie laughed nervously, plucking at the strap of her bag. Rivera looked taken aback, confusion knitting his brows. Then, suddenly and much to her companion's relief, he burst out into a deep, rumbling laugh.

"No, no, no. My dear, these I lost in a foolish brawl over a very coy woman's favor," he said, again flashing her a gay smile.

Luna joined in, her laughter ringing lightly over his baritone. Yes, she liked him. Bonnie briefly pinched the bridge of her nose, giving Luna a wry smile.

"I am sorry. Blunter than a bludger, this one."

"Not at all, I like a bit of gumption," Mr. Rivera said, giving Luna a quick wink.

"I had come up with a variety of scenarios involving fire slugs… but I suppose a beautiful woman is equally interesting," Luna said. She gave Bonnie a quick look of apology before continuing. "I am studying the Augurey population in Ireland. I finished up my fieldwork on the East coast last month and now plan to spend a few weeks on the west coast. County Claire mostly."

"Stay away from their nest, now. It would be shame to have the Augurey be your death omen."

"It's been proven that the only thing the bird's cry can foretell is the rain," Bonnie interjected.

"Oh, yes. I am aware…" Rivera raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised at how literally he had been taken. "I was merely teasing."

There was a lull then, the direction of conversation knocked askew. Luna observed as Rivera wetted his lips, the flat red tongue peeking out quickly from beneath his mustache and disappearing just as quickly. He seemed to be weighing his next words.

"But in all seriousness, do be careful while you are there. I met an old friend the other evening, works for the Daily Prophet, and he mentioned some suspicious vampire activity in that region. Very nasty stuff, indeed. A number of muggles have gone missing and the found. Drained completely… poor souls." Mr. Rivera shook his head sadly.

It was Bonnie's turn to break into laughter.

"Mr. Rivera! Forgive me, but thanks to the Ministry, we haven't had to worry about vampire activity for decades. I wouldn't send my Luna anywhere so dangerous."

"I have personally met a vampire, a nice fellow, really. Good conversation." Luna was quick to say, recalling Professor Slughorn's Christmas party. It had been years ago now, but she still remembered his face.

What was his name? Luna squinted in concentration, beckoning the memory to resurface. It was no use; the vampire's name was long gone. She looked back to her companions, stepping back into the present. While she had been lost in thought the atmosphere had shifted, something tense in the air.

"Yes, well… I am sure there are exceptions to every group."

Rivera now seemed slightly offended, pursing his lips while straightening his jacket.

"Come; let's move this conversation to the Leaky Cauldron for a spot of lunch. I am particularly interested in hearing your thoughts on dugbogs here in Britain," Bonnie said, shepherding them both out of the hall.

Luna bid them farewell and made her way out of the building, leaving them to their discussion. Dugbogs did not interest her in the least and the mention of danger, and Bonnie's reaction to it, had left her feeling awkward. Besides, she had made plans to meet Hermione.

The weather was cheerful and sunny as she stepped out onto the cobblestone pavement of Diagon Alley. The air was buzzing with activity, everywhere was crowded with students gathering supplies for the coming school term. It was that time of year again. She paused briefly, drinking in the nostalgia. Nearby, a child squealed with glee, peering in through the large storefront windows of Eeylops Owl Emporium. A small long eared owl looked quizzically back at the young girl, its ear tufts mirroring the quirky, sloppy pigtails that sat perched atop her head.

Luna relaxed; leaving the tension that had gripped her behind. She cut up along the street, making her way to Rosa Lee Teabag. Surprisingly enough, she had beaten Hermione there. Odd. Luna was always the one who was late. Punctuality was Hermione's life force. She took a cozy spot in the back, smiling as the resident cat came up to greet her. Absentmindedly, Luna gave it a fond scratch behind one brindle colored ear and waited.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione had still not arrived. Had she gotten the day of their appointment mixed up, or the time, perhaps? Luna ordered a cup of ginger tea and nursed it, lazily thumbing through an old issue of the Quibbler. She had helped her father edit this one. Another fifteen minutes passed and Luna began to feel genuine concern. She cast a look to the clock on the wall. She was leaving first thing in the morning for Ireland, and needed time to prepare all of her supplies. Frowning, she stood, leaving a half full cup and saucer on the table.

Back at her small flat she wrote out a quick note, expressing regret at having mixed up the time of their meeting. So sorry. She'd love to make plans when she arrived back in London later on in the month. Her screech owl, Geronimo, set out into the skyline, letter tied securely to its leg.

 _Well then, let's get to sorting this and that.  
_

* * *

The augurey sat a top an ancient elm tree, preening its emerald plumage. Luna held her breath, hopeful. She had been searching for the nest all morning, keeping a trained eye out for its characteristic teardrop shape. Just a few more sketches and observational notes before she could call it a day and head back to town. She found that she enjoyed the sandwiches at the muggle pub there very much.

 _Yes… with a side of chips this time._

She started slightly as the bird suddenly took flight. Luna frowned. It wasn't tree hopping like it had been all morning. This time the augurey went up high into the sky; the green of its long wings catching the little bit of sun the sky was willing to spare. The long mournful cry of the augurey was carried on the wind and met her ears. Rain. It seemed her luck this time around was about to change for the better. Luna observed the gray sky, noticing that now the clouds seemed heavier, darker. Well, she had planned to get wet.

The augurey circled overhead three, four, and then five times before gliding along, heading inland. Luna sighed. It looked like she had no choice but to follow along. She had spent her first two days in Ireland attempting to locate this specimen. She would not lose it now. Fishing inside of her pockets, Luna pulled out a long feather and admired the green as it gracefully darkened into a coal black at the tip- an augurey tail feather. With some luck, she had managed to collect it this morning from underneath the bird's perch.

With a few quickly whispered words, Luna whisked it up into the air and, with a flick of her wand, watched as it hovered a few feet over her head, the tip pointing after the bird. A helpful little tracking charm never did a girl wrong. The early mist of rain began to float on the air as Luna straightened her hood and started trekking up along one of the Burren's low rocky mountains. Rain never just fell in this country; it came and went in all directions.

The going was relatively easy at first, but quickly the stone and earth beneath her feet quickly became slick. Treacherous, even. All of her attention became focused on shifting between the feather guiding her way and the ground underfoot. It almost became cathartic in a way, the steady pace of her heart as she worked up a thin sheen a sweat under her clothes. Rain gently pattered against the plastic hood of her rain slicker. Even though it was out of sight, the augurey's solemn calls beaconed her.

Eventually, her path lead down into a ravine and she found herself climbing down over rocks slick with moss. It was unsurprising as augurey's often nested in secluded areas. Still, Luna was growing tired and, while she loved the rain, a cold wind had picked up. This sort of afternoon was best spent tucked next to a fireplace, sipping warm butterbeer… not that she could find it in this muggle village. Luna tilted her head to the side in thought, pausing next to a crumbled stonewall. She puffed her cheeks out, tucking a few sweaty strands of hair behind her ear.

Regrouping her attention, Luna took in her surroundings. The ravine had been deep and was thick with both old growth and new hazel scrub. She could now see that she had been climbing over the crumbled remains of an old homestead. There was a gate, a collapsed well, and before her rested the skeleton of a small cottage. The roof had long given way to the elements, moss and clover clinging to its walls. The chimney had partially collapsed, the top half taking out one wall as it had fallen. This area, she mused, would actually be the perfect hiding place for an augurey nest. _Huh._

Luna pulled her hood back and sighed as the rain cooled her flushed face. Looking up, she took note that the feather was now standing vertically, slowly rotating. It was the signal that the bird was close by. She adjusted the straps of her knapsack and peered inside of the house. There had once been wooden floorboards, but they had long rotted away, leaving chunks of decay and clusters of little mushrooms. She smiled. They looked like little men. Cute.

She doubted that the augurey had nested inside the ruins. These birds preferred thickets and brush in which to hide. The tangle of relatively young trees behind the ill-fated cottage seemed like the best bet. Luna walked over the old rusted remains of a metal gate and worked her way into the thicket. She was surprised when it suddenly gave way to a small clearing behind the chimney. A large willow tree fenced in the far side of what had once been a garden; its long thin drooping limbs creating a screen.

A gasp came from her unbidden. There it was. The augurey. Luna tried to contain her excitement. She had never seen one on the ground before. She admired the bird, eyes dreamy, as it gracefully stepped amongst fallen willow branches, carefully searching for the best addition to its nest. _Nesting behavior in the act!_ Her fingers itched to take pencil to pad, capturing the bird's likeness in soft graphite. Luna now found herself feeling irked by the rain. With a slight pout, she pulled out her Weasley 'walkman' instead.

"Found a lovely augurey, day three in the Burren. A female of medium build with healthy coloring," she whispered into the machine. "It has nested…"

Luna trailed off, blinking.

What was she looking at?

The augurey had journeyed farther underneath the willow's canopy and she had quietly followed. A large portion of the moss was red. Why was it red? A wet pungent odor hit her and she crinkled her nose, perplexed. It was so far from what she had expected that she didn't trust her senses. Yes, there was the scent of damp earth, musky and deep, but cutting over it was the sharp presence of iron. It was almost as if it were…

A gust of wind came and the creaking groan of rope pulled Luna's attention upwards. Her mind froze then, refusing to compute the sight before her.

A face drenched in red, devoid of any life, was slowly swinging overhead. Two open eyes stared at her, glazed over in death. A low whimper left her throat. _What was this?_ The body of a middle-aged man was hanging from the tree… by the feet. His arms dangled down, fingers blue and swollen, and Luna recoiled in horror when she realized that they were close enough to brush against her shoulder. With a strangled gasp, she fell backwards, clutching her recorder to her chest as if it were a shield.

She had seen death. Luna knew death. Death, she had told herself, was simply a part of life. Death, while definitely sad, was not scary. Really. But now here it was again, lashing out at her, coming out of nowhere. Unexpected, this death was terror in every sense of the word. Her throat constricted into a painful vice as moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Murder. Murder. Murder.

Unable to tear her eyes away, they took in the sight of pale blue skin, milky eyes, and the horrible- so horrible- maw that was once the man's throat. She flinched. With two powerful pumps of its wings, the augurey had landed on a branch up above. It's nest. There it was. Uninterested in the morbid goings on beneath it, the bird went about its careful work, tucking the thin willow branch in with a nimble beak.

Luna tried to swallow. What should she do? Notify the local authorities? Did she even know how the muggle authorities worked? She seriously doubted that the Gardai knew what an augurey was or why she would be chasing one.

The rain continued its steady fall, dripping quietly from leaves and branches, soaking both Luna and the body. The only other noise to disrupt the somber ambiance of rain was her ragged breathing. It came out of her in painful bursts, choking. Strangling. How long Luna might have remained like that, frozen in time, is impossible to know. Suddenly the rough sound of male voices pierced through the air, startling her back into cognitive thought. They were close.

 _Murderers._

She did not know this for certain. Technically it could have been anyone, but Luna did not like this gamble. With a wet squelch, she frantically climbed to her feet, horrified anew at the blood soaked moss that had stained her pants and hands. The instinctual drive to flee took over and Luna ran for the ruins, the bright red of her slicker disappearing behind the chimney just as the voices grew in volume, right on her tail.

Luna held her breath, trembling.

"I thought there'd be more."

American.

"Shit," he continued. "What a mess this one made- I mean… what's wrong?"

There was a silent pause. Luna shivered as cold rainwater dripped from her chin.

"No… it's nothin'. Nothin'. Jus' thought I saw somethin'," came a second voice. This one was low, gravely. He sounded local.

"Like what? An animal?"

"No… like I said, it's nothin'. Jus' thought I saw some movement."

"The rain, I bet. It rains so damn much… messing with my eyes," the American said, his disdain evident.

The Irishman simply grunted in return and for a while Luna heard nothing but soft distant thunder. Then came the sudden and sickening thud of corpse hitting soft ground. The slick sensation and taste of bile bit at the back of her throat. Luna quickly brought a pale trembling hand to her mouth.

"Mind the rope!"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," the American said. "Where is this one going, again?"

"We aren't leavin' this one out. Transfigure it into a stone. Once that is done you can just toss it. Don' matter where."

A wry chuckle.

"Won't be many left in this village if we keep it up," the American laughed.

"Don' matter."

"Okay," he sounded slightly offended. "How is it you muggles say? ' _Just sayin'_."

Muggle? The Irishman was a muggle?

It was quiet once again, only this time a murderous aura filled the air.

"You say muggle or squib one more time to me and I will cut your tongue out. I may not have a wand but I can use this knife here well enough."

The Irishman's voice was quiet and low. Eerily calm. It was the tone of someone who truly meant every word.

"Listen, man. You really need a thicker skin. A joke. Just a joke. We've got a long way to go yet and I'm just trying to bring a little levity to our job."

"Not with this. Never with this. Bring it up again and it will be your end. Don' care what she'll end up doin' to me."

A pause.

"Jesus, man… Fine. Yeah. Forget it then," the American said.

"Come on, there's mor-"

"- _a cull of the Brazilian Dugbog population would be devastating to the surrounding marshland. Mandrake farmers have strong ties with many peoples of-_ "

The slow droll of Mr. Rivera's voice interrupted everything. Stunned, Luna looked down stupidly at the device in her hands. Bloody hell… she had hit the playback. _Hell!_ Cold fingers stiff and slow to respond, Luna desperately hit at the buttons.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Shush. _Quiet!_ " Luna breathed, panic clouding her brain. "Oh my, no."

"- _Found a lovely augurey, day three in the Burren. A female of medium build with healthy coloring-"_

Luna finally managed the off switch, her wet fingers slipping over the plastic. A fingernail had bent back in her haste, but she did not notice. Luna felt rooted to the spot, hunched over, cocooning her body around the walkman.

They found her. Fast. Inhumanely fast.

She stared up at them through the wet ropey strands of her hair, pale, silver eyes wide and trembling. They stayed like that for a while, seeing who would move first. Luna: attempting to process. The men: bemused… a predatory smirk curving the lips of the taller man- the American.

Luna finally burst forth, attempting to run like a hare flushed out from its burrow. The Irishman leapt forward, digging his hands into the back of her bag and coat, the straps yanking her back brutally. A scream ripped from her throat then, letting loose high and shrill. Despite this, or maybe because of it, she threw herself forward again, shrugging her shoulders and arms out from the sleeves. The cold bite of the air hit her body hard as she stumbled away, regaining her footing. For a split second it seemed like she'd escape, her legs taking three giant sprints away from the men.

This hope was quickly killed by the sensation of strong fingers in her hair and the crushing weight of a knee in the small of her back, bringing her down. They hit the ground hard, Luna's face digging into the dirt. She could taste blood in her mouth and moaned, frantically clutching and slapping at the man's harsh grip.

"Whoa- whoa!" the American laughed, twisting his knee down hard.

She kicked and tried to buck him off and he responded in kind, ripping her butterbeer necklace from her throat, the metal biting into her flesh as it went. Choking pain lashed through her neck and shoulders, smothering the fight inside of her with a scream.

"Where did you come from, girl?" he said, removing his knee and sitting down on her with a grunt, the sharp point of his knee replaced by the dull weight of his tailbone. "You're out in the middle of nowhere, ain't ya?"

"Enough, stop playin'. She saw. Add her to the harvest for the day," the Irishman said, tossing her bag down to the ground with disinterest.

"Seems like a waste," the American replied, pulling her face around, examining her. "You're a pretty little thing."

Luna spat the blood and dirt from her mouth, gasping for air.

"Don' matter. Blood is blood."

The American looked over his shoulder at his companion and sighed in annoyance.

"Fun sucking son of a bitch," he muttered darkly, turning his attention back to Luna. "Sorry, sweetheart, not your lucky day today."

Her head was spinning and the only thing she could focus on was the image of the dead man, hanging from the willow tree. She was going to meet the same end. _No. No. No. I won't. I can't!_ Her death here, on this dreary afternoon, seemed like such an abstract idea. It wasn't real. Luna stared at the butterbeer caps scattered across the ground, the bight colors wet and gleaming. The nearby augurey let out a forlorn call and Luna felt the cold hand of horror deep inside of her. _Rain and death_.

 _I don't want to die._

It was then, through some miracle, that Luna was able to click something into place in her brain. Her attention zeroed in on her bag by the Irishman's feet. She always kept a memento of her mother inside. A charm made from a piece of crumple-horned snorkack. She remembered her father, her mother, and the explosions… No, they had been mistaken; it was erumpent horn. Hermione had insisted. Luna had chosen to ignore her, preferring nostalgia and her father's version of events. Luna wormed her hand, very slowly, to her pocket where her wand was concealed, the wood digging into her hip.

 _Hermione had a knack for being right._

"Please, don't," she begged, allowing tears flowing freely. She met the America's gaze, pulling his attention. "Please. I'll do anything you say. Please!"

She prayed he didn't notice her hand at work.

The man gave her a wicked smile.

"Shhh-sshh. I'll make it fast, I pinky swear. You won't even-," he stopped suddenly, narrowing his eyes.

Luna thought for sure she'd been discovered. Instead, he pulled her head back even farther, catching her chin with dirty fingers.

"Hold up," he said, waving over the Irishman. "I think I recognize her- this is one of the kids she wants alive, I think."

"You think or you know? It's important."

"Maybe. Not one of the big three but definitely in that grou-"

Luna didn't have the time to be confused. This was her chance. Using their distraction, she pushed the wand out from under her body and took aim.

"STUPEFY!"

The explosion tore through the air, ripping her from the ground with an extraordinary violent heat. Pain seared through her as she hit the ground, something in her side cracked. She was burning, she could feel it on her back and neck. The acrid smell of burning hair filling her nose. Someone was screaming, but it wasn't her. _There's no time._

In a Herculean effort, Luna pushed herself to her feet and fled.

* * *

Well, there is the first chapter. I was a little unsure about the rating of this fic but ultimately decided on a Teen rating considering the dark themes present in the source material. R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

**Come to Grief**

Part 2

" _And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain_

 _Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;_

 _So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating_

"' _Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—_

 _Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—_

 _This it is and nothing more."_

 _Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,_

" _Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;_

 _But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,_

 _And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,_

 _That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—_

 _Darkness there and nothing more."_

-The Raven

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was often a bustling and chaotic place. However, early on a blustery weekday morning- like this day, in fact- one could enjoy the tearoom on the fifth floor in relative peace. It was here that Hermione slowly sat herself down into one of the chairs, feeling weary down to her bones. She half-heartedly nursed her black tea, letting the steam warm her face as she stared out across the room. Seeing the world around her through a fog. Everything felt completely out of focus this morning.

Hermione cast a quick glance towards the window, the wind rattling the glass panes. The day was promising to be a bleak one, as though winter was fighting to come early this year. She went to take a sip, paused, and then set the china down on to its saucer with a weak clank. Exhausted, the dull throb of fatigue behind her eyes, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Hey…. Morning," came a soft voice from behind, startling her. "Steady on, love."

George slid into the chair next to her, thin fingers dropping something into her cup with a small plop. She looked down at her tea and then back, eyebrows raised in question.

"Just a sweet," he said.

She stared at him.

He sighed, a small smile of surrender on his lips.

"… That may have been fortified with whiskey."

Hermione opened her mouth in protest, but no words came to her. Instead, she considered the cup in front of her.

"A second one, please," she said finally, pushing it over to him slightly.

He smiled again- finally smiling these days. George obliged and fished a second candy from his pocket.

"Spoke to a Healer just now," he said, dropping it into her tea and giving it a stir. "They've adjusted the amount of sleeping draught so she won't be quite so… loopy… coming out of it later. She'll be resting for a few more hours still."

"Good, that's good," Hermione said before taking a long drink.

They were quiet for a moment, Hermione observing the tabletop. She could feel his eyes on her. Warm fingertips found hers and she watched as he took her hand. It was tempting to leave it there, to allow it, but instead she pulled away and shot him a warning glance. Hermione's attention shot across the room, hunting for any prying eyes.

"Right… right," he said, lips pressing into a firm line.

He leaned back into his chair, raking his ginger hair back with the rejected hand.

"He's not back yet, you know," he said, frustrated.

"He will be tonight. Both of them will be… I- I'm not sure what to do about this."

He snorted. It seemed like everything was so straightforward to him. Simple. That confidence irked Hermione.

"Tell the little git that it's over." George had leaned forward again, whispering into her ear.

" _Enough_ , he is your brother. We are a small community. People talk- I warned you," Hermione muttered, feeling her cheeks flush at the warmth of his breath against her ear.

"They see one Weasley, they see all the Weasleys. No one really can or bothers to tell us apart, love."

Hermione ignored him, choosing to instead finish her drink.

"Someone needs to let Xenophilius know," she finally said.

George pulled away and gave her a long hard look. Hurt. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor loudly, fixing the collar of his coat.

"Right. Well," he said, pausing by her shoulder. "Seeing that you and I apparently weren't together yesterday or last night… I guess the person that will be sending that owl is you."

She listened to his receding footsteps, brow creased. Of course, part of her wanted to follow him. The other part wanted to throttle him. What was George expecting? Things were complicated, especially now that she had finally allowed him into her bed. _He_ had pursued her and she had yielded. The duplicity she felt whenever she saw Ron's face… Hermione didn't like herself very much these days. Increasingly, Hermione found herself wishing that she had never gotten mixed up with Weasley men in the first place.

Hermione bit her lip, but as she stood, she knew it was too late to go after him. Nor was it really the time, she reminded herself. She returned the empty cup to the teacart and made her way down to the fourth floor. The entire ward felt hushed. Hermione's footsteps against the linoleum floor sounded muted as she made her way down a brightly lit hallway. Healers went about their tasks, the lime green of their uniforms loud against the quiet of the morning. She paused briefly outside the second door from the end, fingertips resting against the cold harsh metal of the knob. Hermione took a steadying breath.

Luna slept peacefully, the room kept dark thanks to heavy curtains drawn up tight against the morning sun. Hermione let her shoulders slump in relief. Luna looked so much better. Her face had regained some color and she no longer looked pained. Just tired.

She had been horribly splinched. Hermione shuddered at the memory. Luna had apparated, suddenly and violently, into the living room of Hermione's small flat. There had been no time to address the obvious questions, as it became immediately apparent that Luna was dying. It was a miracle that Hermione still kept a small vial of dittany, otherwise… Hermione did not want to think of the inevitable consequences had she been without it. The evening and night had been long, Hermione and George pacing the halls. Waiting. Luna had lost both bone and tissue.

Hermione sat down, placing a hand on the soft comforter, feeling the solid flesh beneath it. She ran her hand down Luna's leg, happy to find it completely intact. She examined the second leg and sighed in relief. Both were okay. Luna would have scars for sure, but at least her legs were back in proper order. She examined Luna's face again and frowned. It was still a mystery as to why Luna had apparated so poorly, but now that she could actually examine her, more questions presented themselves. What had happened? The burns, the black eye and cracked lip, the broken ribs mentioned by the Healers, the fact that she had been hypothermic- all of these facts clamored with alarm inside Hermione's head.

"Hmm? … Hermione?"

Her voice wavered, weak.

"Luna! Easy, you should still be sleeping," Hermione said. She took Luna's hand.

Luna looked panicked, eyes taking in the room around her.

"Where am I?" she asked, attempting to sit.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. We're at St. Mungo's- stay down. No, Luna, stay down. You've been seriously injured."

Head clearing a bit, Luna allowed Hermione to push her back against the pillows. She licked her lips and glanced about at the room again.

"How did I get here?" she asked.

"You don't remember, I guess. You apparated into my flat yesterday… you were splinched pretty badly. Your legs," Hermione said, waving a hand at Luna's lower half. "Your legs were in pretty bad shape."

Luna looked down, attempted to wiggle her feet, and grimaced in pain.

"The Healers were able to restore your legs, but recovery may take a bit of time. It was severe," she said, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Luna's arm.

She looked at Hermione and then back down at her legs.

"… Oh."

Luna closed her eyes, her head falling against the pillow. She was silent for a while. Hermione wondered if maybe she had fallen back to sleep.

"May I have some water?" she suddenly asked, eyes still closed.

"Oh. Uh- yes. Of course," Hermione said as she stood to fetch a glass.

She watched Luna drink, fighting the impatience mounting inside of her. Luna handed back the glass and reclined. She stared at the ceiling, blinking.

"Luna."

"Hmm."

"Luna… Hey."

Hermione could see that she was starting to go out again, the residual effects of the sleeping draught pulling her back under. It was clear that Luna needed to sleep, but Hermione couldn't help herself. She edged forward, gently prodding Luna's shoulder.

"Luna. I need to know. Why did you apparate into my flat? Why my place?" she asked. "I need to know."

"Hmm? Oh," Luna opened a drowsy eye. "The crumple-horned… it was erumpent… you were right."

Her eye slowly closed, a slight smile twitching at her lips. She went slack jaw, now fully under again from the potion.

"Erumpent? ...Luna?"

Hermione carefully shook her, but it was no use. The only thing Hermione could get out of her was the soft and steady rhythm of her breaths. She sat back, biting at her lip again. There was no other choice but to wait. Hermione was a brilliant witch, but patience in the face of unanswered questions was not an attribute she possessed. It made her anxious. Needing to channel this nervous energy, despite the exhaustion, Hermione gathered her coat and bag. There was always work waiting for her at the Ministry. She could use her time there until evening when Luna was sure to be awake and lucid.

* * *

The burn was angry, each twitch of his lips or eyes sending the pain searing throughout his entire body. He grimaced and the chain reaction of agony left him weak in the knees. His fingers sought out the hidden pocket of his jacket and procured the small flask he always kept. The adrenalin from the chase had long ago worn off and now he needed a different form of relief. The little bit of magic Magnus had bothered to send his way provided little comfort. He gave the American wizard a venomous glare.

 _The lazy ass._

He drank deeply and, not for the first time that day, seriously contemplated killing him. It would be easy. All he had to do was come up from behind with his knife. Fast. Lethal. In his experience, when it came to taking a life, magic was seriously overrated. His hand twitched by the blade housed securely in its sheath. In a world full of wands, this was his. He had always heard that the wand chooses the wizard. So, when the magic had failed to rise up within him, lost in bitterness and humiliation, he had felt the glinting call of cold sharp steel.

He stared at Magnus' back, the taller man lost in his work as he poured bucket after bucket of blood into a cauldron. At first, when he had just started this work, the smell of the blood being brewed down into the jet-black potion they were collecting turned his stomach. It had since hardened him and now, instead of gagging on the pungent odor, he pulled out his tobacco and rolling paper.

The pop and hiss of his match striking into life piqued the American's attention.

"Hey, Quaid. Make me a few while you're at it," Magnus said, quirking his head slightly to look at him.

"No," Quaid snorted, the purple smoke of his special tobacco shooting through his nostrils in large plumes. "This is mine… 's expensive. Took me a week to find the wizard who sells this."

"Sheesh, man." Magnus laughed, shaking his head before returning to his work. "Might as well make yourself useful. Can't make a potion, no magic, couldn't even catch that damn girl… least you can do it toss me a few cigs while I do all the work."

"Last I checked, you also couldn' catch the bitch," Quaid quietly responded, his lip curling into a painful snarl. Yes, before this was all said and done, he would definitely kill him.

Magnus shot him an ugly sneer over his shoulder before stirring the cauldron with quick flicks of his wand.

"Pass me the adder's fork, then."

Quaid pulled a long drag on his cigarette, taking his time to stand and cross the room to their pile of supplies. He tossed the bag of dried snake tongues into Magnus' waiting hand. After returning to his seat he, despite himself, looked warily to the window.

"She comin'?" he asked after a long pause.

"Can't say. I ain't quite sure what she wants until she says so," Magnus said, stepping away from the cauldron to grind asphodel blossoms into a mash.

Thin fingers deftly added the mash to the potion followed by a handful of grave dirt. The potion popped and sizzled, turning a vibrant luminescent red before darkening. The glow briefly illuminated the single room of their hut. It had long ago been left to the elements, forgotten in a derelict bit of land. Comfort was sparse here, but they were not here on vacation. Magnus stretched as a small chuckle shook his angular frame, his face darkening.

"Let me put it this way. You do not want her coming here just yet. That would spell out a very bad ending for you, friend."

Quaid rankled at the threat. He spat the end of the cigarette out and leapt to his feet despite the protest from his injury.

"Don' you dare tell me you put the blame for Lovegood on me, you miserable basta-," he began, knife sliding out from its sheath.

Suddenly, the timing eerily impeccable, there came a loud rapping at the window. Quaid froze in his place. Magnus turned and gave the weapon a disinterested glance before turning his attention to the sound. The rapping came again, louder.

"Ain't you lucky tonight," Magnus said, smirking. "Go on, let it in."

Not without some trepidation, and for this he cursed himself; Quaid reached for the window and undid the latch. The fact that she had sent a raven in her place was a good sign, at least in the sense that he wouldn't lose his life this night. He allowed the window to swing open and stepped back to give the bird room to enter. The raven was ancient. Its impressive age was only bested by the sheer size of the animal. It poked its head into the room, surveying. Its one good eye, the other long since blind and a milky blue, sized him up. After a weighty pause, the raven clicked its large beak in dissatisfaction before it gracelessly hopped to the floor with a clatter of claw and ragged wing.

Magnus stretched out an arm to the bird and then pulled it close as it perched. The two huddled close, conspiratorial. Quaid could only watch, feeling the cold of stone against his back as he sank down into his seat. Magnus whispered quietly to the raven and it listened, head bobbing in acknowledgement of each word. Quaid twitched in alarm as the raven opened its beak to speak. It was a low gurgling sound in some semblance of English, but Quaid could not make any sense of it. Nervousness welled upside his chest, constricting. He did not like sitting on the sidelines, waiting for judgment. Irritated, he ground the heel of his boot against the dropped cigarette. The dirt of the unfinished floor snuffed out the last few embers, purple smoke coming up in a thin tendril before dissipating.

"Quaid."

He looked up, lips pressed into a deep frown, the burned skin pulled tight. Magnus stood and walked the raven to the window, setting it down on the sill with care. It let out a throaty kraa before taking a brief moment to preen itself, sharp beak fixing the coal black feathers. Finished, it turned to regard Quaid once again, head cocked to the side.

A painful minute passed. Finally, jarringly, it spoke.

"Nevermore," the raven croaked, it's voice rattling deep within its throat.

He swallowed, staying still and silent. After it had left, Magnus staring out the window into the night, Quaid returned to his feet and began to gather his things.

"Running?" Magnus asked, the look on his face nasty.

"No," he said, pulling his rucksack onto his back. "Jus' gettin' ready."

"Sure."

Magnus returned to the cauldron.

"Well," Quaid asked, impatience biting at his words.

" _Well_ , seeing that you ain't dead or nothing, what do you think she wants?" Magnus said as he measured out wormwood into a vial.

Quaid said nothing, the hatred building up inside of him, threatening to spill out in lethal force. Magnus turned and snorted at the rage contorting Quaid's face.

"Go take care of her. St. Mungo's. London. See if you can't muck that up," he said, gesturing with his wand. "Although, those healers have that place locked up tight."

"I have my own methods, don' you worry about tha'."

The American ignored him, humming a quiet tune over the potion. Quaid clenched his fist, fighting down the urge to cause him pain. He comforted himself with the knowledge that later this evening there would be plenty of violence to match his hunger. As he left, he took another hit from his flask. His face hurt to hell and back.

* * *

Hermione watched the owl depart from roof of St. Mungo's, it's small body eventually disappearing against the sky streaked with orange and red. She watched the sun set over London. When the owl had returned earlier in the day with her original letter to Xenophilius, she had sent another to The Quibbler headquarters. She had been surprised by the timely response informing her that Luna's father was out of the country investigating something called a Cruckstrumfp. What this creature was supposed to be, no one knew, but it reportedly resided in the bogs of Germany.

It bothered her that it would take Xenophilius time to get to Luna's side. She could only imagine the distress this news was going to cause him. The metal railing groaned in protest as she leaned her weight against it. Lights flicked into life across London's skyline as night blanketed the world. Hermione fiddled with her hair, debating if she should return downstairs. The Healers had been in the room fixing up Luna's more superficial damage. The black eye and split lip.

For the umpteenth time that day, Hermione felt guilt heavy in her gut. Luna had come to her for help and she had been reminded once again of how much more Luna felt for her than Hermione had ever bothered to return. She couldn't help but remember the portraits of her, Ron and Harry that Luna had made. They were probably still hanging up in her father's house. That had been the first time that Hermione had truly realized that Luna was a dear friend and it made her feel like a complete ass. Death Eaters had even kidnapped Luna because of them.

God, and George was pissed at her today as well… No. It was better not the think about that right now. She'd have to fix that later.

Hermione stared at the railing. The day had been rainy and unseasonably cold. The wet metal beneath her fingers bit at the skin, unforgiving. She quickly withdrew her hands, shoving them down deep into her warm pockets. Taking a deep inhale of night air, Hermione shuffled from one foot to the next. This was procrastination and she knew it. Scolding herself, Hermione shook her head and surrendered. She made for the stairs.

The room was brightly lit when Hermione returned, Luna slowly eating a bowl of bright yellow pudding. Her face looked as good as new. All of the physical evidence of trauma erased. Luna gave her that sweet smile solely unique to her personality. Calm and serene despite what she had been through. Hermione entertained the idea that Luna was just incredibly good at compartmentalizing everything that happened to her. In fact, she had been shockingly resilient after her ordeal with the Death Eaters. It was as if she had been forced to sit through a boring lecture instead of being locked away underneath Malfoy Manner. It was concerning. Hermione made a mental note to ask Luna about this once she was out of hospital.

"Cheers," Luna said, raising her spoon in a small salute.

"What flavor is that?" Hermione asked. The pudding looked slightly nauseating.

"Hmm? Oh… banana? I think, at least. Maybe corn?" Luna responded, studying a spoonful. "It tastes lovely enough. Would you like some?"

"Oh, no. Thank you." Hermione waved away the offered spoon.

She watched as Luna returned to eating, waiting. A few minutes passed with only the sound of spoon clinking against ceramic between them. Hermione sighed.

"When can you leave?" she asked.

"Once I can move my legs just fine. A couple of days or a week at most."

"Good… good. Hey, Luna," Hermione said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "Listen. I don't want to rush you after… everything… but I need to know what happened."

Luna's veneer of calm serenity faltered, her brow creasing together as she lowered the bowl to her lap. Silence. After a while, Hermione began to worry that they would sit like this all evening. Luna was staring off at the ceiling.

"Luna?"

Hermione reached out and let her fingers brush against the sleeve of Luna's nightgown.

"I'm sorry I brought you into this, Hermione."

Luna set the pudding aside and let her hands fall into her lap. Clasped together tight until her knuckles turned white.

"I'm not sure what made me choose you. Perhaps because I was thinking of you at that moment… because you were right," Luna smiled at her, tears building up in her eyes. "Remember the memento I keep of my mom? The Crumple-horned… I mean, the erumpent horn?"

Hermione sat back in confusion.

"Yes, I do."

"I had been so stubborn about it. I mean- I knew it wasn't from a crumple-horned snorkack. Of course I knew… I'm studying to be a naturalist. I just wanted to ignore that fact and just live in the nostalgia of it. It was my mother's life work."

Luna stopped and looked at her.

"…Okay," Hermione said, urging her to continue.

"Well… I blew it up. It may not have been from a crumple horned snorkack, but it did save my life."

Hermione nodded slowly, trying to puzzle together what Luna was getting at.

"I was following an augurey. Remember how I was to spend a week in Ireland finished up my survey? I had been following it for a while, walked all over the place. It was raining, which was a good thing because I got to listen to it sing. Anyways… I was following it, right? And as I tracked down its nest, I came across an old cottage. All overgrown and beautiful. It was perfect."

Luna fell silent. Suddenly, causing Hermione to jump in surprise, Luna slumped over onto her side and worked the covers up to her head. With her back to Hermione, she continued in a voice so tiny Hermione had trouble making her out.

"And then I saw it."

Hermione rose from her seat and made her way to the bed. She sat on the edge, pulling the blanket down from Luna's face. Fear began to claw its way into the back of her mind, fighting for her attention. Hermione had _never_ seen Luna rattled. Ever. Not even at the Battle of Hogwarts.

"What did you see?" she gently asked.

"He was dead."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"D-dead?"

"Yes, hanging upside down from a tree… like a slaughtered pig. Throat slashed, all drained," Luna said, twisting the fabric between her hands.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. Just a man. I didn't know what to do. It came out of nowhere. One minute I was doing my job. Happy. Then the next I was staring directly into his unseeing eyes."

Hermione sat back slightly, feeling a shiver snake its way up her spine. She waited for Luna to continue.

"Then I heard them coming. Two men. I panicked, and even though I hid, they found me," Luna forced the words out, a sob choking the words in her throat.

"Oh, Luna." Hermione held onto her, stroking her shaking shoulders with each shuddering sob.

"They-they were going to kill me. Just like that man. I don't know how I thought of it, but I blew up the charm in my bag."

"Ssh, ssh. It's okay. You can stop. We can talk about this later, Luna." Hermione shushed her, squeezing her tightly.

As Luna's sobs dwindled down into gasps and hiccups, Hermione slid from the bed to fetch a bottle of sleeping draught that had been left on the nightstand.

"When they found me again, I really thought that was it," Luna spoke again.

"You need to rest more." Hermione said as she returned, pressing a vial to her lips.

Luna accepted to potion, rolling over to face Hermione. She watched as Luna readjusted herself, covers back up around her face, hiding puffy tear stained eyes.

Luna looked up at her.

"Through all that we have been through, I never truly thought I was going to die. I just didn't. We were children… the danger had been there but to die, you know, actually die- it didn't seem real. All on my own… it was so cold and wet… being _hunted_ … I just… Hermione," Luna mumbled, the potion taking her quickly.

"Yes?" Hermione leaned in close to hear her.

"They knew my name."

Luna's eyes closed in enchanted slumber.

Hermione felt frozen, hunched over Luna's sleeping form, every single concern that had been mounting throughout the day now blown to smithereens by this revelation. Her name? How on earth? These pieces did not fit together and Hermione's brain swung into a full-blown temper tantrum. Like an automaton, she straightened herself out. She stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do next. She now regretted giving Luna the potion. It had been out of concern for Luna's mental state, but now… she couldn't even begin to count the questions now looming over them both.

Hermione took up her bag, and then quickly put it back down. She folded her coat, unfolded it, put it on, and then took it off again. Finally, after staring at the olive green tweed for far longer than she realized, Hermione allowed the fabric to slip from her hands and fall to the floor in a whispered thud. It took some time for her heart to settle down. She allowed herself to sit, staring at Luna's sleeping face and attempting to pull some comfort from the peace she saw there. Maybe she needed some of that sleeping draught as well.

No, what she needed to do was talk to Harry. And to Ron. But they were not here, not yet at least. She'd made plans to meet them at the Burrow tomorrow morning. Let them rest up from their work. Well, she could go now and be there when they arrived. Hermione reached for the coat on the floor but paused. Looking at Luna's vulnerable form beneath the covers… she just couldn't leave her. Not tonight, at least. St. Mungo's was safe, yes, but Hermione did not want to risk Luna waking up in the middle of the night alone. As much as it killed her, Hermione's driving need to find answers would have to wait until the morning.

She eyed the vial, tempted. Hermione had not slept properly in almost two days. No. No, no, no. Shaking her head, Hermione stood and went in search of the teacart. Thus, the next couple of hours passed in a slow and agonizing march. Hermione sipped cup after cup of chamomile tea in hopes that it would bring some sense of ease. When sleep would not come, she paced the halls, hating the ache fatigue brought to her body. Once the clock struck two, Hermione lowered her exhausted head against the foot of Luna's bed and, finally, slipped into a restless and shallow sleep.

It was not a good rest. Nervous dreams kept her murmuring into the covers. She was walking down the halls of Hogwarts, far too old to be a second year, yet there she was in uniform. Professor Flitwick passed her a paper and with a sad shake of his head said, ' _So disappointed, Miss Granger. So disappointed.'_ The phrase followed her as she ran down the hall, weeping. _So disappointed. So disappointed._ The world shifted, as only dreams can, and George came. He took her by the hand and led her to the common room. Tea had been set out. Ron was eating. Always eating. He took a large bite from a cucumber sandwich, observing as she sat on George's lap.

She took a cup of tea and looked Ron straight in the eye. He cocked his head to the side, still chewing. George nuzzled her neck. Hermione watched Ron swallow his bite of sandwich, watched how the muscles of his neck constricted with the effort, listened to the sound of it. He grunted slightly and reached for another slice. He looked up at her then, the brown of his eyes luminescent. ' _Why him, then?'_ he asked. _'Yeah,'_ George seconded. _'Why me?'_

Hermione looked down at her tea, and after a pause, looked back up and asked, ' _Pass the sugar?'_

A harsh, acrid smell filled her lungs, choking. Hermione shot straight up, gagging. Frantically, confused, she looked around. A dream. A dream. It had been a dream. Luna coughed, squirming in her sleep. Hermione crinkled her nose at the smell in the room. It clung to her mouth, blocked her nostrils, nauseating. It was a familiar smell and, after some pondering, it brought back memories of the muggle world.

Wait… petrol?

Hermione sniffed the air around her in alarm. She had to be wrong. There was no reason, no place, for petrol here. Cries of fear reached her ears. Shouting. Screams. Underneath the sharp sting of petrol came the heavy smack of smoke. The more her senses tuned themselves back into the waking world, the more apparent it became that the building was on fire. Hermione flung the door open and was immediately greeted with chaos. Patients screaming, shouts of _aguamenti_ as the Healers desperately tried to put out the flames.

The misguided spell only made things worse, the petrol floating and spreading on the water.

"No! No! Use a different spell! Stop using aguamenti!" she shouted, running out into the hall.

A Healer shoved her back, trying to keep her from the flames. Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed over the wizard's shoulder.

"Extinguo!"

A portion of the wall ignited in flames suddenly went out, the extinguishing spell successful. The Healer looked back at her quickly, surprised, before echoing her spell. But it was too little too late. The floor above had also caught and quickly the ceiling was beginning to crumble. Smoke stung her eyes and Hermione stumbled against the wall. The nearest Healer was helping patients down the stairs, extinguishing the flames as she went. The witch looked back and saw her, waving frantically.

"Come on! Everyone must go!" she screamed over the chaos, beaconing Hermione to follow.

Everyone must go. _Luna!_

"There's still someone! I have to go back!" Hermione cried through the smoke.

"Leave it to the Healers! Come back!"

She ignored the witch, working her way back down the hall, trying to keep low as smoke obscured her vision. By the time she made it back to Luna's door the ceiling was beginning to come down in a rain of debris and fire. Pain seared at the back of her legs as the fabric of her pants caught fire. She shrieked a spell at her legs, scrambling to put out the blaze biting at her flesh.

Hermione stumbled into the room, horrified at how quickly everything had fallen into pandemonium. It was hard to breath, the smoke obscuring everything. She fell forward, feeling the fabric of her coat and the leg of her chair. Nearly blind, she pulled herself up, screaming.

"Luna!"

Through the smoke she then saw something she truly did not expect to see, an empty bed. Her eyes followed the tangle of sheets to find the pale of Luna's legs, the white of her nightgown. She saw a man dragging her unconscious form away and flash of a knife. It was another thing that Hermione did not expect to see, but the sight of the knife spurred her into immediate action. With a choked cry of alarm, she threw herself forward, tumbling over the bed. Her wand clattered out of sight.

The man dropped Luna, surprised. Her body fell to the floor, limp. Terror seized Hermione's chest. _Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead_. _Please, God, don't let her be dead._ She would not- could not- accept it. Her soot stained hands grasped at Luna's nightdress, pulling herself up on top of Luna's body, shielding her. Warm breath met her fingertips and Hermione cried in relief. _Alive!_

Her relief was short lived as Hermione felt a pair of rough hands yank her backwards, pulling her hair. A hoarse scream ripped from her throat as she was flipped around. The sight that greeted her was from hell. Flames were rippling across the ceiling as a thick black smoke billowed around them. On top of her was a man, faced marred with angry red burns, the damaged skin stretched across one side of his face like spider webs.

They were locked in a primal struggle, Hermione punching and kicking as the man raised his knife. The shock of the fire and following chaos had happened so fast, but this moment slowed down before Hermione's eyes. She watched as the steel reflected the flames, a lethal flash of red and orange. It stayed suspended for a second as the man tried to get a better grip on her writhing form. The knife would come down, she knew this, and she threw her hands up, fingers like claws. Before the man could snuff out her life in one quick slash, she dug her fingers into the burned man's face, aiming for the scar and eyes.

He threw himself back with a scream and Hermione took the opening, kicking herself away.

"Accio wand! ACCIO WAND!"

The precious length of vine wood and dragon heartstring skittered across the floor and then through the air, landing in her outstretched shaking palm. Without bother to aim, she pointed the wand behind and sent multiple curses flying. Anything she could think of that would hit hard, anything that would hurt. A strangled cry met her ears and she knew she had some time.

Luna was still on the floor, the sleeping draught keeping her oblivious to the dangers that surrounded them. Hermione crawled forward and looked around. The door was gone in a wall of flames. She could still hear the distant voices of the Healers fighting to extinguish the inferno but knew that it was impossible to wait. It would be fatal as wave after crushing wave of heat bared down. More of the ceiling was catching fire. There was a window, but they were four floors up. Shaking horribly, Hermione looked down at the wand in her hands. She hoped she could concentrate hard enough for this.

Holding her wand in her teeth, Hermione grabbed at Luna, pulling her unconscious body onto her shoulders. It was painful progress as she half carried, half dragged them both over to the window. She blew out the glass and frame with a frantic swipe of her wand. She leaned out, seeing the pavement below. She took a deep inhale before coughing from the smoke as it billowed out around them. She hefted Luna up onto the windowsill. She took another look down and swallowed nervously. Then, calling forth the spell she'd used so many times in her childhood, she pitched them both forward and screamed.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

* * *

George Weasley was drunk.

Head heavy, he watched the ice cube roll around in his glass of fire whiskey. The light caught in the amber liquid and winked at him. It was too warm. When had it gotten so hot in his flat? Grumbling, George rose to his feet and shuffled over to his window. A shockingly cold wind greeted him as he hoisted the window open and it took his breath away. He blinked several times, considering if he'd rather keep it closed. Diagon Alley was quiet below him, only the occasional witch or wizard making their way along the dimly lit street.

 _I wonder if she's-_

"No. Bugger it." He spat out at the night air.

It vexed him endlessly, this charade he had to play with Hermione. She made all of the rules and he had no choice but to go along. In order to have her he had to lie. He may be a sneak and trickster, but to straight up lie to his family… this was not his way. He was a Weasley. He was the co-founder of Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes, damn it. He was clever, good-looking and damn funnier than Ron would ever be. George gripped at the window frame and fought shouting every curse word he could think of out into the night.

She liked rules, that girl. So straight laced, and on the surface, when he had been younger, that had seemed so boring. She'd been a humdrum, plain, obnoxious bookworm. When everything had started to fall apart and Hogwarts was on the rocks, Hermione suddenly became far more interesting; quite the brave little rebel. It piqued his interest and it had only grown stronger with the passing of time.

George stumbled away from the window and looked at the picture of Fred and himself he had facedown on his bookshelf. He couldn't bear to put it up- couldn't bare to put it into storage either. It had been taken after Gryffindor had won the Quiddich Cup back in '93. He'd kept it because it had been such a candid photo of Fred. No sneak, no snark, just pure joy on his face. Fred had always had a bit of an edge to him and it was nice to have proof of the softer, happier side.

He sighed, wiping a hand down his face. Hermione was killing him, taxing his strength, but he had to admit, she had been there for him too, when he'd completely fallen apart. Fred had been gone and he'd been adrift. His mother would never admit it, but he had drifted into some form of insanity for a while. The rest of the family had been aghast, unsure of how to help or what to say. Everyone was still grieving; they had lost a son. He couldn't blame them, but they had almost lost a second son in the aftermath.

She'd been there with him through the worst of it, simply because she had a good and honest heart. It was then that he had fallen for her, truly fallen and his attention towards her shifted from physical wanting to something much deeper. Of course, it had taken her much longer to realize their shared attraction. George took a long drink, hissing as the whiskey hit the back of his throat.

"George Weasley!"

He dropped the glass in shock, whiskey and glass shards hitting his pant leg. George whirled around, confused and alarmed by the sudden and pervasive voice of his mother booming across his flat.

"M-mum?" he zeroed in on the fireplace to find the reproachful gaze of Molly Weasley.

"Are you _drinking_? For Merlin's sake, are you drunk?" she asked.

Had she been physically in the room he was sure she would be slapping him upside the head. George sheepishly made his way around the couch to kneel in front of the semblance of his mother's face, aglow in coal and fire.

"… 's no big deal. Just a bad day- a _bad_ day, so I was unwinding," he hiccupped, embarrassed.

She looked him up and down, observed the drenched leg of his pants and the glass on the floor.

"Oh, clean that up before you step on it and hurt yourself," she sighed. "I will wait."

George felt incredibly cowed as he set about following her instructions. It was quick work; just a wave of his wand and the glass was gone- along with part of the carpet.

"… I'll go change," he said, deciding against using magic to dry his pants.

"Good plan, dear."

By the time he had returned he could hear his mother talking to someone on her end.

"Yes- yes, I know Arthur. Just a moment and he'll be right bac- oh, George. There you are. Go drink some water and then sit down."

He obeyed.

"Listen, is Ron with you? He was meant to come home once he finished his training this week but he hasn't shown. I assume he is here with you? Sleeping, maybe?"

George was silent for a moment. Blinked.

"Um, no. Actually. I thought his plan was to go straight home or visit… you know, Hermione," he mumbled, looking off to the side. Duplicity. He hated it.

"No, dear. I haven't seen him all evening," she said, a crease of worry on her brow.

"Well, Mum, maybe he and Harry went out. They are young men, could be at the Leaky Cauldron or anywhere, really."

She was silent.

"Listen, I'm sure they're just fine. They meant to get back late anyways this evening. Could be they're having a night out; maybe they're visiting with friends. Who knows, I'm sure tomorrow he be in the kitchen eating off a hangover," George said, sipping some water and cringing.

He was beginning to feel a little awful himself, regretting that last glass of whiskey. Molly tsked slightly, was silent again, and then relented.

"I suppose you're right. I just don't care for this Auror business that the two of them have gotten into. They've done enough dark wizard chasing for a life time and a half as it is."

"I know," George said. "But they know what they're doing. They've got good heads, Mum. You worry too much."

They were falling back into the pattern of a conversation had many times over. His mother never wanted Harry and Ron to go into such a dangerous career. George felt that they were perfectly suited for it. After all, taking down Voldemort was something any Auror could retire on.

"See, that's the problem, George. You don't worry nearly enough about your brothers."

George balked. Molly stopped abruptly, realizing her mistake.

"Hey, I'm really tired. I've had too much and should really sleep it off. You'll see him in the morning," George said, standing. He suddenly felt exhausted to his bones.

"George-."

There was a loud knock at the door. They both turned in surprise.

"See, there you are. He's here."

"Oh, good," she said, relief evident in her voice.

George fully expected to see Ron at his door, maybe Harry as well, both drunk and grinning like fools. Instead he was greeted with something very different. His jaw dropped. Hermione had Luna on her shoulders, both covered in soot and looking truly wretched. Hermione was sobbing.

"Oh, thank god. George, help me with her," Hermione said, her voice thick with tears. "My legs can't take much longer. It hurts."

No… definitely not Ron.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it. R&R!


End file.
